Attraction
by NoTimeToStop
Summary: Stiles was having an existential crisis: "Am I attractive to gay guys?" [a little Sterek one-shot, set season 2-ish; references episodes 1x03 & 1x05]


**Attraction**

Stiles was having an existential crisis. Simple truths he had held about himself, he now doubted. Truths about where he stood in the elusive hierarchy of physical attraction. He wasn't exactly a ladies' man, but Stiles had always comforted himself with the belief that he possessed a certain charm, wit, and 'a-dork-ableness' that gave him an attractive edge – even if he had a bad habit of scaring girls off every time he opened his mouth, particularly if he had forgotten to take his Adderall that morning. An attractiveness he hoped he would grow into by college - a suave, irresistible Matt Bomer in glasses kind of attractiveness. An ugly duckling transformation to swan fairy-tale story, in which he opened his wings and escaped the naysayers of Beacon Hills. But, right now, while he was still trapped in the cut-throat politics of secondary hell, was he considered hot? Sexy? Gorgeous? Good-looking? Cute? Was he the friend-zone level of adorable, like kittens in bow-ties and teddy bears cuddling big red hearts? In the very least, he wasn't ugly, was he?

His mother had always called him her "handsome boy," and his father teased him, claiming Stiles was a good-looking kid but unable to get a girlfriend ("You get your looks from my side of the family," the sheriff laughed when he was in a good mood; "You look like your mother," he confessed solemnly after he had a couple drinks and let his guard down), but Stiles suspected they were biased. Yet he loved and respected his parents, trusted their intelligence and judgement. They couldn't be wrong, and they wouldn't flat-out lie to him, would they? His mother had been the most beautiful creature in existence (okay, so maybe _he_ was a little biased), and his father was a handsome guy - didn't all the ladies in the Women's Auxiliary tell him so? - so he undoubtedly came from good stock. Statistically, he had to have received some of their good genes.

Despite his personal history of constant rejection, Stiles had never doubted his own attractiveness – honestly, he had never given it much thought – until now, until Danny. He couldn't understand why Danny didn't like him. Everyone liked him. Okay, well, not _everyone_ , but he had a certain _je ne sais quoi_ that prevented people from disliking him. Invisibility and hatred were two very different things.

Stiles had questioned Danny in class about Jackson, and had smoothly transitioned into the question: "Do you find me attractive?" Danny was silent a long time. It was a simple yes-or-no question. It shouldn't take that long to answer. Stiles was anxious. His seat was behind Danny and he couldn't see his face. Stiles leaned forward – and fell off his chair. He stood quickly, popping up like a Jack-in-the-box, to cover his embarrassment. The teacher gave him a cold look and shook his head: Stiles Stilinski was one of the many reasons he was anticipating early retirement.

Danny hadn't answered his question. The bell rang and Danny disappeared before Stiles could ask him again. Asking once had been awkward and humiliating enough, Stiles wasn't sure he could work up the courage to ask again. He needed to ask someone he trusted, someone he was comfortable with. "Am I attractive to gay guys?" Stiles asked Scott, shifting the weight of his book-bag on his shoulder, as they headed for the parking lot.

"I don't think I'm the right person to ask." Scott grinned, and behind his perfect, pearly-white smile Stiles discerned a certain cockiness. The wolf lurking within. Stiles knew Scott was thinking about Allison.

They climbed into Stiles' Jeep and he started the engine. "Answer hypothetically or objectively, or whatever. Would a gay guy find me attractive?"

Scott glanced over at Stiles, and his smile diminished in surprise. "You're serious?"

"Yeah. I wanna know if I'm attractive. So, am I?"

"Dude, why would you ask me?"

"You're my best friend. You're the only person I trust to give me an honest answer."

Scott shrugged and looked out the windshield. "I dunno. I guess you're a good looking guy – if you're a guy and you like other guys...I guess a dude could do worse than you..."

Stiles groaned, and threw up his hands in exasperation. Scott had to grab the steering wheel to prevent the Jeep from veering into on-coming traffic. "You're useless!"

"Fine, you're a very sexy dude, and any guy who can't see that must be blind. If I was gay, I'd totally tap that."

"Nevermind," Stiles grumbled. Scott considered Stiles' face. He thought his little attempt at humor would lighten his friend's mood, but Stiles was frustrated and downcast.

"Why is this so important to you?" If he reached back in his mind, Scott could remember Stiles asking him a similar question a few weeks earlier.

"It's not." Scott knew it was, but he didn't argue. Stiles had retreated, pulled back from him, and was steadily putting up a wall. Scott hated when Stiles did that. They were best friends; they were supposed to be able to talk about anything...even this. Stiles had never been one to care about physical appearance, especially his own. Scott couldn't understand where this was coming from, why being attractive was suddenly so important to Stiles. "I asked Danny if he found me attractive, and he didn't answer, so I'm just curious."

"Why do you care so much what Danny thinks?" Scott stared at Stiles. "Is this your way of coming out to me?"

"Dude! No! I just..." Just, what? He didn't know. If Stiles didn't know why he cared about being attractive, how could he explain the situation to Scott? "Let's talk about something else."

Stiles dropped Scott off at the McCall residence and then drove himself home. His father was working, so the house was quiet and still. He walked up to his room, threw his backpack on his bed, and went to his closet to change into a clean sweatshirt. As he pulled his mustard-stained hoodie over his head, his t-shirt rode up, exposing the fair skin of his torso. Instead of pulling the shirt down immediately, Stiles examined himself in his full-length mirror, critically evaluating the fine hair around his bellybutton and the subtle flesh of his abs, the Y curve disappearing into his boxers, the band of which peeked over the top of his jeans.

"What are you doing?"

"Jeez!" Stiles jumped, tripping backwards and falling into his closet. A strong hand reached out and grabbed his wrist, pulling him upright. He stared into deep juniper eyes, a square jaw set in a rigid grimace, a stern brow etched in permanent shadow. Who was this guy – Batman? Stiles wrenched his arm free and smoothed down his shirt. "Do you always have to use your mystical, werewolf ninja powers to sneak up on people? You could have given me a heart-attack!"

Derek raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't 'sneaking.' I used the back door."

"You could give a guy some warning!"

"I did."

Stiles grumbled complaints and curses against werewolves under his breath, and took a red plaid shirt off its hanger. He could feel Derek watching him as he buttoned up. His fingers trembled slightly, and he had to redo a couple buttons more than once, because he put them through the wrong hole. _You're just startled, that's all,_ he told himself. "What are you doing here?"

"I needed a computer. I don't have one at the moment, so I thought I would use yours." Stiles glanced at his desk. His laptop was on, the screen opened to his Justice League wallpaper. How had he not noticed that when he came into his room? Did that mean...

"How long have you been here?"

Derek smirked. "Long enough. Finished what I needed to do. You have quite an interesting browser history."

Stiles slammed the screen shut. "How did you guess my password?"

Derek shrugged. "I hate to break it to you, Stiles, but you're not exactly an enigma."

"Yeah, well, for being Mr. Cool and Mysterious, you're pretty predictable. Breaking and entering, your creepy stalker impression, your I'm-so-awesome-I-don't-need-to-tell-anyone-what-I'm-doing-or-ask-permission attitude, this whole tall, dark, stranger lone-wolf aura you got going on," Stiles flailed his hands in Derek's general direction, "it's typical Derek Hale."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, it is. You're basically an arch-type." Stiles regretted the words the second they left his mouth. Suddenly Derek lunged at him, a supernatural blur of black leather, rippling muscle, and spiked hair. He pushed Stiles against the wall, trapping him there with a hand on either side of his shoulders. He flashed his sharp fangs. He smelled earthy and musky, of wood and soil and expensive aftershave. Derek leaned in close, and Stiles could almost feel the bristles of his perfectly groomed beard brushing against his own smooth skin. "How's this for predictable?"

"I figured you'd do that."

Derek barked what sounded like a laugh and stepped back. Stiles released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He felt a strange wave of disappointment but dismissed it. Stiles adjusted his sleeves, rolling the cuffs up from his wrist to his elbow, exposing the fair flesh of his forearm. He could feel Derek's eyes on him, and he felt self-conscious. "Uh, did you want to talk about something else, or are you done here?"

"What were you upset about when you came into the house?"

"Upset? I wasn't upset."

Derek rolled his eyes. Stiles was such a terrible liar; why did he bother trying? "I could smell your anxiety from up here. It wouldn't have anything to do with the workout regimes and steroid information I found in your Internet search history, would it?"

Stiles bristled. "No." He waved off the suggestion with a laugh, but Derek had noted his change in body language.

"You need to be careful, Stiles. Those kind of ridiculous 'get ripped quick' schemes are dangerous."

"I was just scrolling through the web. Don't worry about it."

"Does this have anything to do with your best friend becoming a werewolf?"

"As if," Stiles scoffed. He wished Derek would drop the issue. Stiles didn't care about whether he was werewolf or human, whether he was as strong as Scott or if he had abs of steel. He glanced at Derek: 6 feet of tall, lean muscle; piercing stare; confident posture; and perfectly sculpted abs visible beneath the thin cotton fabric of his tight t-shirt. Derek would never, _could_ never understand. He was practically a god. A cross between Apollo and Pan – wild, gorgeous, glistening, and dark. (Oh, crap, where had _that_ thought come from? And why was he suddenly picturing Derek running half-naked through the forest with antlers?)

He ducked under Derek's arm and strode towards his bed, but the werewolf grabbed his bicep. He spun Stiles around so they were facing each other again. "Tell me." Why did everything Derek say always sound like a command? Stiles' natural inclination to rebel surged within him, and he had a snappy, sassy reply locked and loaded on the tip of his tongue, but he looked into Derek's eyes, and he realized the alpha wasn't demanding anything. He was worried about Stiles.

Stiles sighed. "Listen, I'm not going to drastically mutilate my body or stop eating or anything" - he loved curly fries too much for that - "I was just researching ways I could, you know, look different." He was embarrassed by the next part, so he whispered, "...more attractive."

Stiles expected mocking laughter, but Derek's brow furrowed. "You don't think you're attractive?"

Stiles couldn't believe he was having this conversation, let alone having it with Derek Hale. He had revealed this much, he may as well tell him everything. No turning back. "Look, I know I'm not attractive, okay? None of the girls at school look my way, and then when I asked Danny if he found me attractive-"

"Danny is-?"

"He's basically the only gay guy I know. Anyway, I asked him if I was attractive, and I completely embarrassed myself. I wanted to know if a gay guy would find me hot, and I totally humiliated myself. I was stupid to even ask."

"He told you he doesn't find you attractive?"

"Well, no...he didn't answer." Derek smiled knowingly and released Stiles' arm. He chuckled quietly, and then loudly, until he was having a full-out laughing fit. Stiles was confused. "What? What is it?" Derek took a deep breath through his nostrils and regained his composure. He stared at Stiles' seriously.

"Did it ever occur to you that Danny _does_ find you attractive, but he felt weird admitting it to you? Where were you when you asked him?"

"Chemistry?"

Derek bit back a laugh. "So Danny doesn't admit he finds you attractive in a room full of people, when you're supposed to be paying attention to the teacher, and after – knowing you – you probably asked him out of nowhere, and you think that means he doesn't find you attractive?"

"Um, yes?"

Derek shook his head. "God, you are an idiot."

"Hey!"

"Maybe Danny _does_ find you attractive, but he didn't want to just blurt it out." Derek took a step toward Stiles, slowly, gently. "Maybe there are other gay guys who also find you attractive. Guys who are closer than you think." With each word, Derek advanced, until he and Stiles were only a couple inches apart. Stiles could feel Derek's hot breath on his face, could see the little imperfections in his skin, the light brown ring circling his pupils. "Maybe that guy would like to do very nasty, very sexy things to you."

Stiles' breathing hitched. His heart hammered against his ribcage. He could feel it beating in his ears, in the back of his throat. His palms were sweaty, and he rubbed them against his jeans. His face burned. Derek smiled at the blush that colored Stiles' cheeks, at the way the pink brought out his freckles and the chocolate brown of his eyes. Stiles was a few inches shorter than him, smaller; he could reach out and pull the boy close to him, incline his head and press his lips against Stiles' and taste him. He felt Stiles' body draw instinctively toward him, willing to surrender to a show of strength. He was the Alpha. He was wild, carnal. He could have the boy now, shove him onto the bed and...but, no, he shouldn't. He hadn't survived this long by giving into his animal desires. He was more disciplined than that. Only self-control kept the beast at bay.

Derek had already been arrested for suspected homicide. He didn't need a statutory rape charge hanging over his head – especially a charge involving the sheriff's son. There was plenty of time. Stiles needed to grow up first, needed to discover who he was, what he wanted. Derek would deny himself – again. He would wait.

Derek ran a hand over the boy's head playfully. The short hairs softer than expected. "Maybe if you had a big-boy haircut, instead of looking like a twelve year old, people would find you more attractive." Stiles swatted the man's hand away. "I need to get going. Call me if you hear word about the hunters."

Stiles nodded. His heart wouldn't stop racing. Derek turned and left, and his room suddenly felt empty and cold. Stiles could hear him descending the stairs. "Use the front door next time!" he yelled, remembering how to make his mouth work. The door slammed shut. Stiles collapsed onto his bed and sighed.

Maybe he did need to have a certain conversation with Scott after all.

 **END**


End file.
